Yes! There’s one! And two! And three and four! Thank you. Now we’ve broken the seal, it all gets sexy. Someone comments, ‘Yumstrels.’ I dabble with the notion of liking the comment. It’s a commitment, liking comments, because once you start you really have to follow it through and like all of them. Really it’s best not to start, plus it looks less obsessive, less like you’re monitoring things. I just left this here and walked away! What, you think I have nothing better to do with my day than refresh this inanity?

I’m waiting for any likes, but really I’m waiting for the women I currently admire online. It’s been moving this way for a few years and recently it calcified. I want the women to want me more. I wait for a name that means something. I wait for a sign. There are certain people whose attention I am keen to attract. Margot Ripkin. Buzzface Cruise. Wintering Marianne. Suzy Brambles. Suzy Brambles more than the rest, perhaps, because she just started following me back (two days ago! I’ve been following her for years), so it feels as though we are now connected. As we should be. Entwined, you might say.

Suzy Brambles. Oh, Suzy Brambles, with your hostile bob and black Citroën DS and kickboxing lessons and almond eyes and lips like you’ve been sucking on a frozen Zeppelin. What’s not to like? And I like. I like and like and like. The first post that ensnared me was a charred corncob on a beach barbecue, with the caption: The adventure is already inside you. I was pretty lost on the adventure front at the time, so that corncob spoke to me on many levels. This morning, Suzy Brambles has been kicking up leaves in Dulwich. She is such a playful thing! I have watched the video five times already. Suzy Brambles only posts in black and white. This is because she has real integrity. I watch the video of her in the park again. Each time I watch it, I find something new to admire in her choice of composition, angle and filter.

I look at the time. It is almost 11 a.m. How did that—

ART SAID

‘That thing is the first thing you look at in the morning and the last thing you look at at night.’

We were in bed. It was a week or so before we broke up. I was looking at my phone while we were having sex. I see now how that might have been interpreted as rude – some might even say offensive. He put his hands on my shoulders and said: ‘Stop.’

I stopped.

He said: ‘Jenny, somehow I just don’t feel like I have your full attention.’

‘You do!’

‘I don’t. Even when you’re here it’s like you’re not here. It’s like half your head is somewhere else.’